And from the crowded fold, in order, drives
His flock, to tafte the verdure of the morn.
Falfely luxurious, will not Man awake;
And, fpringing from the bed of floth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the filent hour,
To meditation due and facred fong?
For is there aught in fleep can charm the wife?
To lie in dead oblivion, lofing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life;
Total extinction of th' enlightened foul!
Or elfe to feverish vanity alivė,
Wildered, and toffing thro' diftemper'd dreams?
Who would in fuch a gloomy state remain
Longer than Nature craves; when
every Muse And every blooming pleasure wait without, To bless the wildly-devious morning-walk?
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Rejoicing in the eaft. The leffening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all, Aflant the dew-bright earth, and coloured air, He looks in boundless majefty abroad; And sheds the fhining day, that burnish'd plays On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,
High-gleaming from afar. Prime chearer Light!
Of all material beings first, and best!
Efflux divine! Nature's refplendent robe!
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt
In uneffential gloom; and thou, O Sun!
Soul of furrounding worlds! in whom best seen
Shines out thy Maker! may I fing of thee?
'Tis by thy fecret, ftrong, attractive force,
As with a chain indiffoluble bound,
Thy Syftem rolls entire: from the far bourne
Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round
Of thirty years; to Mercury, whofe disk
Can fcarce be caught by philofophic eye,
Loft in the near effulgence of thy blaze.
Informer of the planetary train!
Without whofe quickening glance their cumbrous orbs
Were brute unlovely mass, inert and dead,
And not, as now, the green abodes of life!
many forms of being wait on thee! Inhaling fpirit; from th' unfettered mind, By thee fublim'd, down to the daily race, The mixing myriads of thy fetting beam. The vegetable world is also thine,
Parent of Seafons! who the pomp precede
That waits thy throne, as thro' thy vaft domain,"
Annual, along the bright ecliptic road,
In world-rejoicing ftate, it moves fublime.
Mean-time, th' expecting nations, circled gay
With all the various tribes of foodful earth,
Implore thy bounty, or fend grateful up
A common hymn: while, round thy beaming car,
High-feen, the Seafons lead, in sprightly dance
Harmonious knit, the rofy-finger'd Hours,
The Zephyrs floating loose, the timely Rains,
Of bloom ethereal the light-footed Dews,
And foftened into joy the furly Storms.
Thefe, in fucceffive turn, with lavish hand,
Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower,
Herbs, flowers, and fruits; till, kindling at thy touch,
From land to land is flush'd the vernal year.
Nor to the furface of enlivened earth,
Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods,
Her liberal treffes, is thy force confin'd:
But, to the bowel'd cavern darting deep,
The mineral kinds confefs thy mighty power.
Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines;
Hence Labour draws his tools; hence burnifh'd War
Gleams on the day; the nobler works of Peace
Hence bless mankind, and generous Commerce binds
The round of nations in a golden chain.
The unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee,
In dark retirement forms the lucid stone.
The lively Diamond drinks thy pureft rays,
Collected light, compact; that, polish'd bright,
And all its native luftre let abroad,
Dares, as it sparkles on the fair-one's breast,
With vain ambition emulate her eyes.
At thee the Ruby lights its deepening glow,
And with a waving radiance inward flames.
From thee the Sapphire, folid ether, takes
Its hue cerulean; and, of evening tinct,
The purple-ftreaming Amethyft is thine.
With thy own fmile the yellow Topaz burns.
Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring,
When firft fhe gives it to the fouthern gale,
Than the green Emerald fhows. But, all combin'd,
Thick thro' the whitening Opal play thy beams;
Or, flying feveral from its furface, form
A trembling variance of revolving hues,
As the fite varies in the gazer's hand.
The very dead creation, from thy touch,
Affumes a mimic life. By thee refin'd,
In brighter mazes the relucent stream
Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt,
Projecting horror on the blackened flood,
Softens at thy return. The defart joys
Wildly, thro' all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter; and the briny deep,
Seen from fome pointed promontory's top,
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Reitless, reflects a floating gleam. But this,
And all the much-tranfported Mufe can fing,
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use,
Unequal far; great delegated fource
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below!
How fhall I then attempt to fing of HIM!
Who, LIGHT HIMSELF, in uncreated light
Invefted deep, dwells awfully retir'd
From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken ;
Whose single smile has, from the first of time,
Fill'd, overflowing, all those lamps of Heaven,
That beam for ever thro' the boundless sky:
But, fhould he hide his face, th' aftonish'd fun,
And all th' extinguish'd stars, would loofening reel
Wide from their spheres, and Chaos come again.
And yet was every faultering tongue of Man,
ALMIGHTY FATHER! filent in thy praise,
Thy Works themselves would raise a general voice,
Even in the depth of folitary woods
By human foot untrod; proclaim thy power,
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